Bae'que
by EpikalStorms
Summary: Five-year-old orphan Harry Potter passed on to the next great adventure before his really even began, due to the abuse and neglect of his so-called "family." The ones who were meant to judge his soul, the Valar, couldn't bear to, and instead sent him off to a chance at a better future. What will the elves of Middle Earth do when they find a lone, terrified elfling wandering around?
1. To Be Judged

_**Prologue—**_

Five years and he was already dead.

Well, maybe that wasn't the right wording. He was finally, dead, _finally_. That was what he had longed for, was it not? Though the thoughts might sound slightly morbid for one young as he.

But it was a relief. After all, such a short life he'd lived, and it was filled with pain, and suffering—it had not been as pleasant as it could have been. True, while other five-year-olds most likely would not know even the concept of death, this particular five-year-old had found himself wishing for it, time and time again. Now, it's finally come, and he could almost grasp at the very edge of the emotion known as _content_.

You see, this child wasn't like other five-year-olds. In fact, there was a very long list of differences, but one of the main reason had to do with who, exactly, he _was_.

He was Harry Potter.

He was a wizard, a magical being.

He was an orphan.

He was abused, and beaten, and neglected, and starved, and _raped_ by his only living relatives.

He was living with them for his so-called _safety_—a concept as unfamiliar to him as was love and comfort.

He was the subject of a prophecy. A prophecy now void, because...

He was _dead_.

He was five-years-old.

And he was now to be judged. By us, the Valar.

There was only one problem...

We can't.

We cannot judge him.

**Chapter One****—**

They told the child many things, but it was clear he was still unknowing. Confused, confused and scared—he was terrified. It hurt them, almost physically, to see one so wary, and of _them_. It wasn't supposed to be like this; he wasn't even suppose to be here yet. Now, however...

"How are you feeling?" They asked him.

"Not cold no more..." He whispered in reply, then hugged himself and scooted further back into his hiding spot, away from them, as if he was utterly freezing. They eventually decided to leave him alone for the time being. He only sat there, arms around himself, and looking around every now and then as if he was searching for something, tearfully.

"His friend," one of them remembered. "Remember my family, that squirrel? It sat upon his shoulder and brought small comfort to his wary soul."

"He needs it," they murmured. "He needs it, bring it to us!" They cried.

And so they did, and the child appeared much more comfortable as he curled up, tracing the delicate snout of his only friend with his tiny fingers. The small, hazelnut furred animal sat unbelievably still, as if it was convinced it would hurt the child if it were to move even a muscle, silly a notion it was. They could almost see it happening.

"We need to judge him..." One mumbled dejectedly. "He cannot stay here in this place forevermore."

"I do not wish to judge one so young, an innocent," another cried, "so pure, yet his soul be tainted by the evils of the monsters he was subjected to.

"He has nothing for us to judge," yet another agreed.

And so they stayed, just watching the child and his familiar friend. Neither groups ate nor slept, for they had no need of it. Still others passed through the realm, and the Valar judged them accordingly, and the child yet stilled, speaking not, almost hiding. Eventually, they could take it no longer.

"He needs love, for he has experienced none."

"Why not give him anew chance at finding that which he has been denied?" One suggested. "We know of, yet still, our friends across the waters, whom would no doubt cherish one so young in their numbers."

They paused, and thought the idea over. The child watched them, almost curiously, from his spot—as if he wanted to know but feared to ask. Soon, they gave their thoughts.

"I agree." One murmured. "As it is, we have neglected to gift our long-living acquaintances with a youngling for many centuries."

Another sighed. "I as well. There the child would be treasured and loved."

"A far cry from what he has seen thus far, I concur."

"Then it is agreed." Yet another decided. "Come, let us announce to him our decision." And they did.

So they child departed once more, and the Valar each stood with one another on the white sands of a paradise's shore, gazing out over the vast, crystal sea of sparkling blue. "Take care of him." They murmured to those that resided across it. "Take care of him, Eldar."

* * *

**Okay... Um... I'm s-sorry? *hides under bed* Please don't kill me! I couldn't help it! I'm sooorrryyyyy! T^T**

**Please R&R ^ ^ Have a nice day!**

**~Scylar X.**


	2. The Fortune

**Chapter Two****—**

_**So they child departed once more, and the Valar each stood with one another on the white sands of a paradise's shore, gazing out over the vast, crystal sea of sparkling blue. "Take care of him." They murmured to those that resided across it. "Take care of him, Eldar." **_

He woke up feeling extremely comfortable, yet somehow uncomfortable. Especially when he realized that he had no clue where he was. And if it was comfortable, why? He was never comfortable, _they_ wouldn't allow it. So the questions were founded. Where was he, _who_ placed him here, where were _they_, _how_ did he get here, _why_ was he here, and _what_ was going to happen to him _now_?

You see, he wasn't used to feeling comfortable. And when he was comfortable, it usually meant something exceedingly bad, painful, and/or _not good_ was going to happen very soon.

There was a squeak, and something nudged his tiny fingers gently. It was so gentle, weak, he wasn't used to gentle. That meant it could only be one being.

He let out a weak, almost-silent cough and pulled his aching body into a sitting position. He felt lighter than usual. He felt... _different._ He didn't feel like Harry Potter/Boy/It/Freak anymore... Did that mean he wasn't that person? He decided to stop referring to himself as that then, if it wasn't who he was anymore. And yes, he felt _that_ different.

Opening his eyes, he concluded that, indeed, he wasn't that person anymore. First of all, he was in a place quite a bit too peaceful to be real. That meant he wasn't in his world anymore, pure and simple. Why? Well, his world wasn't peaceful, not at all. So it was only logical to assume he wasn't there anymore. Well, it seemed to be the only answer his five-year old mind could offer at the moment. It seemed right to him, anyway. He looked down, and found the second piece of evidence that told him he wasn't _that_ child anymore.

He wore strange clothes. Clothes that were too soft, too fitting, too clean. His shirt was strange, too simple for _England_. It was a dark blue, and it looked more like the tunics that he saw on the telly when _they_ were watching that show, called _Robin Hood BBC_, or something or other. It was actually open in the front, and tied closed with a black belt over a simpler, cream tunic. A black cloak-like piece of clothing with a hood fell over his shoulder and swooped down his back and ended at his heels. His pants looked more like pajamas than anything, but without funny designs printed on them, or strings or anything, and they were made out of a rougher black material that reminded him a bit of denim or blue jeans. On his feet, he found black boots that looked like horse-back riding boots, but plainer without buckles or anything.

But what really caught him was his skin. It was pale—which wasn't really that odd for someone like him—or who he _used_ to be. But this skin, it was unbelievably pale, and he didn't see any blemishes, on the surface at least. He could still feel the healed wounds his relatives gave him, of course, somehow. Oh, and that reminded him of the pain he was in right now, but he pushed that thought and the feelings to the back of his mind for the moment in favor of examining his skin, which was white as snow, purely. Aside from that, he looked like he'd gotten _smaller_.

He turned his attention, finally, to the small animal hat was tugging on the hem on his outer tunic, which had long sleeves that almost went past the last knuckle of his fingers, even if the rest of the tunic fit him just right, and found someone familiar, but... not...

"N-Neo..." He whispered, reaching out a slightly shaking finger to the animal that was, but wasn't, his only friend.

Because, really, real squirrel's didn't have bodies made of pure, shining silver and ivory eyes with what looked to be pupils of real silver. Right? But what about in this new world? No, it couldn't be even that...

Neo chirruped softly and nudged his finger again and licked it slightly, slowing sharp ivory canines instead of the normal squirrel teeth... Was Neo carnivorous now?

He coughed again, then grabbed his chest as a searing pain ripped across it. He was injured? He didn't looked to be... He glanced down at his chest, gasping all the while, then his breath stopped, and his eyes—what color where they now, had they changed as well, they had to have, because—because now, silky, long hair that was definitely attached to his own head fell down off of it's place resting on his shoulder incautiously. It was even more onyx than the person that he'd used to be had. In fact, it didn't look lie hair at all, really—it looked like inky blackness that wanted to creep up into the edge of his vision and swallow his consciousness—he recognized it from the many times he was, or the person that he had used to be had, been beaten unconscious.

But no. This was his hair—_his_, now, no any other's, and it was _long_. Which was why he probably hadn't noticed it yet, aside from the extra weight it added to his head. It cascaded all the way down past to mos likely his thighs, just reaching his knees. Maybe it even went past, and reached his calves.

He forced himself to start breathing again, because it would be bad if he had stopped longer than he had just. He didn't want to pass out again—never mind the fact he didn't remember when he _had_ in the first place. He picked up Neo, fascinated by the feel of the living precious metals under his delicate fingers—almost like a warm, breathing, living treasure. The coat of Neo felt almost like liquid silk, aside from the factor that it wasn't liquid at all, or wet. He held the small creature to his chest and took in a shallow breath that caught when it was halfway in his throat, causing him to cough again; a painful sounding hacking that made Neo curl into a ball and give out a small mew of sympathy. He chose that time to look around himself, after he'd cleared his airway once again.

He was on a beach. More specifically, the shore of a lagoon. The water was so blue, he just _knew_ it had to be fake—but it wasn't. And he didn't have good dreams anymore, not since he'd turned three two years before, so it wasn't a dream either, unless Hell was about to open, and he knew for some reason, that it would not.

The sand he sat, curled up pitifully, in was a bright, blinding white. He would've mistaken it for freshly fallen snow if it hadn't been baked, comfortingly warm by the shining sun overhead, and if he wasn't just now feeling the rough, yet somehow smooth(which didn't make sense to him at all), grains in his very own hands.

He leaned forward and began to crawl toward the water's edge, because, really, the suspense was getting to him, and he needed, _needed_, to see his most likely absolutely brand new reflection _now_. What could he say—he was five. Kids were an impatient bunch, though he was to have more patients than most his age...

Oh yes. Yes, he definitely wasn't Harry Potter anymore.

_**-switch-**_

Those of which lived on the very coast line of the Great Sea, Belegaer, would be rather ecstatic to tell you that nothing every very odd or strange or even surreal happened in their homeland, but then they'd be telling a lie—and those of which lived on the coast, specifically those in the land of Lindor, were especially proud of their honestly, however blunt, or gentle it was. Therefore, if you were to ask on of these, who lived on the coast, of anything strange, or even mythical, they'd only be in their own right to tell you of all the wonderful, the terrible, the completely unknown, things and events that occurred there.

And even these were quite often, if not reoccurring, and it eventually has become rather bland news for the locals. Strange things, to these people, just don't seems quite that strange any longer.

So, yes, please excuse the if they decided to ignore the most recent rumors of a lone, incredibly small child wandering the roads at night.

When he woke up, back on the beach, he'd decided that staying put wasn't really going to get him anyway. Of course, that would be quite obvious, in all. After some thinking, the five-year-old and placed Neo in the inside pocket he'd found on his outer tunic, and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head before starting along the nearest road. When he'd catch sight of others waling the same path, he'd hide quickly, otherwise, Neo knew to be quiet as nothing. In which he succeeded, though his master thought it may be a perk of his new form.

He still hadn't spoken since uttering his familiar friend's name back at the lagoon. He'd decided that it would be wise to keep his mouth shut and his new voice off when he'd realized that the musical sound had come from _himself_. He believed it wasn't quite normal for most who inhabited this new land he'd been left in alone.

It was only five days later of walking, snatching food from the towns he came across—he didn't need much, and he was used to so little anyway—and drinking from the wide stream that ran alongside the road he walked, that he came across the forest.

It was amazing.

He'd never seen something so green—it was even more green that his _eyes_; the one's he'd used to have, at least. Now, his eyes were a very breathtaking deep violet, almost like lavender, but they sparkled like glowing gems, that obtained their own light, not the flower. The very leaves of the trees seemed to shine with life, and the trunks were a deep chocolate color(it reminded him of the hot chocolate that his over-weighted cousin had loved so much, the lighter streaks and swirls of bark that were tinted with vanilla. Flowers of every kind dotted the vegetation, and animals bounded through them in their own, unseen paths that were built just so, that they wouldn't disturb the ethereal beauty of the many scenes yet to be sighted by the close-minded.

The child had never seen anything more appealing to him in his life—at least, not the life before this one, as he assumed he was now living a very different one.

So, he concluded that the only way to soothe this sudden longing inside of him was to trek into the woods that he'd come across.

If he wasn't so lucky as he was, if he hadn't had the very Valar watching closely over him, he wouldn't have made it a day. Resources, after all, were hard to come by if one didn't know where to look in the forest. And he was only yet five, barely half a decade old.

He'd been ever so surprised when the animals started to talk to him.

Of course, they didn't necessarily speak, but they did gain his cautious and incomplete trust—only Neo had garnered that, ever—by leading him to food, to shelter, to anything he needed. It got to the point that, two months later, all he'd need to do was speak of what he needed, and the animals would go. Soon, he'd have it.

There was one animal, however, near the first mountain he'd ever seen in his life, that had caught his attention. He'd been terrified at first, of it hurting him—after all, he'd heard that wolves were right vicious species—but soon, after it had come up to him, let him run his tiny hands through it onyx coat, looked into his violet eyes with it's own, unreal emerald ones, show him the pure, unadulterated care and concern it showed in them; soon, after it stood by his side and protected him from the first pack of orcs he'd ever witnessed—it wasn't until then that he gave the animal something only Neo had ever gained; his trust. And a name—Loki.

Loki was a bit overprotective of that which he cared about, which the child had found out was mainly him. Through the third month that he'd been in that new land, in that new body, new life, the child had learned that Loki had watched him ever since he'd come to the forest. Loki had once lead a pack—a family, close knit, of majestic, caring, prideful and brave wolves. His mate, whom the child had taken to honoring with a name—Frey—had died in delivering his two pups, one girl and one boy. Only a week after Frey's death, did a large party of hunters—made up of Men—come down upon his pack, slaughtering them all, even Loki's close friend and brother, whom the child had gone with legend to christian Thor. Only Loki escaped, weighed down with intense grief. Twice, he'd attempted to end his own life, by throwing himself off the edge of the mountains, and twice had he been held back by the herd of elk, who the child decided to name The Fortune. The Fortune's leader, a great stag the child called Sonj, had forced Loki to return to the base of the mountain. That was when Loki had first seen the child—who still lacked a name. Loki had become attached quite quickly, when he'd noticed that the child was also alone and without kin. It wasn't long until the great wolf king of the forest had chosen to take the child in, as his own pup.

The child was still understandably confused on how he had gotten any of this information, but had decided he was happy to have Loki, even if he only saw the wolf as a friendly bodyguard he knew he could somewhat trust. Loki took no offense, when he'd heard the reasons of the child's trust issues, and had admitted that the position of bodyguard didn't sound at all that terrible to him.

It was only at the beginning of the fourth month, when the leaves of the trees were beginning to turn the beautiful colors of autumn, did this period of peace end.

It was simple. Orcs attacked. Hundred of them. And, unfortunately for the now heartbroken child, the forest didn't make it unscathed. The child was gravely injured before Loki had manged to get the orc away and dead, and he would be dead if it were not for the timely and much appreciated intervention of The Fortune.

Sonj and his herd raced into the clearing the child had been known to occupy and had immediately taken the wounded boy in his antlers, sliding him onto his back before dashing off with a relieved Loki by his side. Neo clung to the boy's shirt—his clothes had somehow always managed to mend and clean themselves in the duration of his stay in the forest, and were as fresh and new as they'd been four months before—and the herd, plus Loki, ran day and night until they arrived to the side of a winding river, far from the orcs—or any orcs. Sonj set the boy down before turning and taking his herd toward a uninhabited gale where the group made their home. Loki had stayed by the child's side until he heard the sound of traveler's approaching, and his behind a rock outcropping.

This is the turning point that the Valar had been waiting for so desperately.

* * *

**My logic: Harry died. He doesn't have his old body any more. It is _dead_, uninhabitable. So they gave him a new one. And it shall not be a beautified replica of his old one, since they are aiming to give him a new life and childhood and family and all that. **

**So I screwed with his appearance. You don't like it, deal with it. ^ ^ For the colors of my choosing, I like violet eyes, and I like Hadrian(I absolutely refuse to call him Harry now. Harry is a stupid name, I'm pretty sure the author only named the characters/settings like that to see if they could get away with having them have such ridiculous names, honestly)'s black hair, only I wanted it even more black. And silky, I like silky. Really no other reason... I am a fan of Hadrian's green eyes, I suppose, but I just didn't think it would work in this scenario. Those eyes came from his mother, Lilly. They're Hadrian potter's eyes, not this new child's. No fear, I'm developing the as-of-yet unnamed Hadrian's character as I go along, and I won't make any drastic changes.**

**Yes. That's a blunt lie. I like messing with the canon, because the fanon makes it possible. XP But seriously, don't freak. I think you might like it. Nothing to crazy is gonna be changes, so don't _worry_.**

**Anyway. There's your next chapter, I'm already started on the next one. However, it won't be posted until there are a total count of 47 reviews. That's how I role now. **

**I love reviews. Seriously. They make me happy. I've been review high lately due to my Katekyo Hitman Reborn fic, so be wary o-o**

**Love you all, can't wait to see what you think!**

**~Scylar X.**


	3. Elfling

**Chapter Three****—**

_**It was simple. Orcs attacked. Hundred of them. And, unfortunately for the now heartbroken child, the forest didn't make it unscathed. The child was gravely injured before Loki had manged to get the orc away and dead, and he would be dead if it were not for the timely and much appreciated intervention of The Fortune. **_

_**-switch-**_

Aragorn was prepared to expect anything, the worst, the dangers that were most definitely on his and the Hobbits' tail, but he hadn't quite expecting _this_.

They were being chased. Of course, he'd expected _that_ part, but the fact that the danger was gaining on them was not very comforting to the Prince of Gondor. Eventually, he'd managed to drag the four Hobbits behind a large boulder, and they watched as the Black Riders rush past them. Aragorn knew they'd be back very soon, but he appreciated the small time as he turned to check over Frodo's wound.

That's when he'd heard it—a weak sounding cough that was far to young a voice to be from Frodo, even though the young Hobbit was the only one he could see that was injured.

The Hobbit's looked confused as well. Aragorn ordered the blond one—Samwise, was it?—to go and look for a plant with healing properties while he went to investigate the noise, as it had grown into a painful sounding hacking. It made them all wince.

What he found—_that_ was what he hadn't expected.

Curled up in the sandy shore of the river, shaking from either the cold, pain, or both, was a child. A fragile-looking, extremely small, delicate, and most likely injured _child_. The kid was almost half the size of Pippin, for crying out loud! What had happened to him?

Aragorn rushed to the child's side and placed a gentle hand on the small form's shoulder, only to retreat when the child flinched rather violently. He frowned in concentration, before the child seemed to fall into unconsciousness before his eyes. The young man lifted the boy up into his arms and raced toward the campsite, arriving the same time that Samwise did with the plant.

Quickly, ignoring the surprised faces of the Hobbits around him, Aragorn gently shoved the shivering bundle into Merry and Pippin's arms, and grabbed the plant from Samwise in the same motion he threw a blanket to the two youngest Hobbits with. Then, he knelt down next to the slightly convulsing Frodo to administer the herbs.

He'd deal with everything when Frodo was a bit safer and resting.

_**-switch-**_

Meanwhile, Merry and Pippin had converged to the opposite side of the camp—they couldn't bear to see their dear Hobbit friend in such pain. They wrapped the shivering little person in the blanket that the man strider has tossed to them before going to attend Frodo, and sat down together.

The two troublemakers peered down at their new bundle, and realized that it was a child. The child wore a black cloak that covered his features, but they could tell it was male.

"Is he Mannish, do you think?" Pippin wondered aloud, squinting down at the child.

"Well, he doesn't look like a Hobbit little one, so I can't think of anything else at the moment." Merry whispered back, tugging the blanket tighter around the child, because it wouldn't stop shivering.

"You know, Merry, I don't think he's cold, really.." Pipping examined the child closer, then hos eyes widened. "Oh!" he cried, not bothering to whisper any longer. "Oh, Merry, look! He's—he's _injured_!"

Aragorn jerked, and spun around. Frodo was in a slightly better condition, but he knew that his own skills in medicine wouldn't save him, but for now... Instead, he rushed to where Pippin and Merry were sitting while Sam looked over Frodo.

"Let me see," he hissed out, almost ripping the bundle from their grasps. He tore the blanket off and worked the cloak loose before sliding it back off of the child, though the hood survived and managed to stay up. He paled at the sight.

They was a low growl, and everyone conscious in the camp whirled around to see two, ethereal glowing green eyes peering at them from the darkness, as if in warning. Slowly, a pitch black wolf stalked into the camp, up to Aragorn, who's mind was slow in processing what was happening. The wolf settled down three feet away, almost a yard away from the fire, staring at them, waiting...

Aragorn decided to deal with it later, and focused back on the child, keeping an eye on their new visitor in the process.

What he saw sickened him. A four or five inch long incision ran across the little one's torso, from just below his left collar bone to right above his right hip. It was somewhat deep, and looked incredibly painful, especially for one so young. It was bleeding heavily, so Aragorn took the blanket and ripped it into pieces, wasting no time to go for his back for bandages or cloth. He pressed the fabric to the child's most prominent wound and examined the rest of him while he tried to still the blood flow. The youngling was covered in bruises, but those mostly stayed to his arms, legs and torso. The clothing he wore was nice, ripped and bloodied as it was, though not too rich on style or material. The Ranger found a few burn marks on the child's hands, as well, and soaked some bandages in water before carefully wrapping the tiny hands with them, then wrapping dry cloth around the bandages.

Once he'd finished dressing all the wounds he'd come across, Aragorn's blood was boiling. He'd had asked himself who in the great green Middle Earth could do such terrible things to a child young as this, but he already knew. He recognized the marks, and the injuries from certain weapons.

This was the work of orcs.

"Mister Strider..." He felt a tug on his tunic and glanced over to see Sam, who then timidly pointed to their left. A low growl suddenly reminded him of their guest, and Aragorn transferred the child, who was now wrapped in his cloak once more, to Sam. The Ranger then jumped up and pointed his weapon in the wolf's direction. Th animal retaliated by slowly standing from it's lounging position, and snarling at him. Giving no time for Aragorn to react, the animal dashed over and plopped down, snuggling next to the child as Sam jumped away from them both. The wolf then sent them all a warning look before tucking it's nose into the crook of the child's neck. The young one shifted, whimpering in pain before snuggling into the wolf's fur. There was a flash of silver from inside one of the child's pocket's, but Aragorn focused his attention to the wolf. He was speechless. So were the Hobbits.

This was certainly not normal.

_**-switch-**_

On their now rushed journey to Rivendell, the black wolf was now accompanying them, along with the child—because they couldn't just leave such a little one there all alone with only the wolf for company. It appeared that they couldn't take the child to Elrond for healing without having the wolf follow after. As the animal did not harm any of them and almost acted as some type of guard dog, they allowed it.

They set up camp after a long day of traveling. The journey, however small, was hard on each of them, though the wolf appeared to be used to it. Aragorn looked over Frodo, and was relieved to find that he'd make it, most likely, if they rested for the night and went on the next day—as they only had a day of traveling left, and he was certain that if they hurried, they could get the wounded Hobbit to his foster father in time.

In his arms, the child let out another weak cough, before groaning slightly. Aragorn held the boy to his chest tighter, feeling a bit unnerved with having the wolf following him, but it was for the sake of the child, so he didn't mind. Too much.

He decided it would be best to check for a temperature, and he sat down on his bedroll and set the little one in his lap, pushing back the hood. His breath caught. This child was...beautiful. No, more than that. He looked so young and innocent, that Aragorn felt empty. This kid was hurt, badly. How could even orcs do this? He felt his hate against the orcs triple—which was no small feat.

Onyx hair was sticking to the child's skin due to cold sweat, so he ran his hand through the silky—even bloodied as it was—mane, wincing slightly at the heat the child's skin put off. Yes, definitely a fever.

Then, Aragorn's heart just _stopped_.

"... A-ah...!" He gasped, eyes widened in complete and utter shock. "Th-this is...!"

The Hobbits—save for Frodo, who was still unconscious—looked over to where he was sitting. "Mr. Strider?" Sam started, "What is it?"

Merry leaned forward, eyebrows up. "Is something wrong?"

Aragorn choked, trying to get the words out—words he'd _never_ thought that he would _ever_ have the chance to say. "Th-This... This is... this is..." He took in a slow breath, but his heartbeat didn't slow down anymore than it was already going as a rabbit's run. "...I-It's an elfling!"

Sam shot up from his seat, eyes wide and shinning. "A-An elfling!" he cried. "But aren't those—I didn't think there were any more elf children in this time!"

Aragorn stared down at the unconscious child in his arms, deeply puzzled, but still excited. "But there are not!" He frowned in confusion. "If the elves had known even the rumor of this child, they'd have come far and wide from wherever they were just to confirm it—and then they'd have never left him a lone, not even for a second."

Pippin sucked in a breath. "By the Valar, that's some overprotective uncles and aunts!" Merry nodded in agreement.

Aragorn looked up, then. "Well, you must understand," he began, still quite shaken by this discovery, "the elves paid for their immortality with their frequency in their children. There hasn't been an elfling in thousands of years, not since—" he coughed, here. "Not since the Lady Arwen, daughter of the Lord Elrond, healer of Rivendell." He looked down at the child in his arms once again. "But this—this child... I wonder; how did the elves not know? The minute that his parent's had found of his very existence, word would have been sent out to their people. The elves would be celebrating!"

"Maybe something happened to his parents?" Merry guessed. "Maybe they were killed. I bet it was orcs." Pippin made a noise of agreement.

Aragorn sighed, shakily, and hugged the tiny elfling to his chest. He couldn't be more than twenty five summers! "I know not. We will only truly know for sure when the child wakes, and that will not be for some while. We should... we should rest, now. We will have a difficult journey, come tomorrow."

Sam was nodding, now. "That's right! We need to get Mister Frodo to the elves!"

The Hobbits quieted down for the night, and Aragorn curled up on his bedroll, hugging the elfling to his chest. He wondered how the elves would react when he showed them _this_.

_**-switch-**_

They finally made it to Rivendell. They'd encountered the Lady Arwen on the way there, and Aragorn was given a tough choice to make. Should he give her Frodo to take, or the elfling? Frodo's injuries were more serious, but the elfling was more fragile, and delicate. After some thought, he'd kept the elfling from her, his selfishness winning out. He didn't want to part with the child, and Frodo might now make it through the night. Arwen had a horse—she could get there faster. In the end, he'd not told her about the bundle in his arms, and instead urged her to take Frodo to safety. She'd agreed.

And now, they entered Rivendell themselves. No matter how many times Aragorn had visited in the past, the sight still took his breath away. He listened to the awed murmurings of the Hobbits behind him as he clutched the tiny form of the elfling to his chest. He led his company down the path to the entrance, and they were met by Erestor, who raised an eyebrow at the bundle in his arms. Aragorn nodded to the elf in greeting, before motioning to the Hobbits. Erestor tilted his head slightly in confusion, before nodding and walking over to greet the small Halflings, and Aragorn took off toward were he knew the infirmary to be.

He almost ran into many elves along the way, who shot him looks ranging from surprise, curiosity, slight annoyance, and puzzlement. He ignored them all, even the ones that appeared to be slightly concerned for him, and made it to the healers in record time. He quickly stepped into the first room, where he coincidentally found his Lord Elrond tending to an elf that was part of the patrol, who had a wound on his arm. Aragorn stepped past the healers who tried to send him out for the moment, and ran over to the High Elf. "Ada!"

Elrond immediately looked up, surprised. "Estel? What are you doing here? You could have waited for me to finish, couldn't you?" He looked the young Ranger over, and his gray eyes zeroed in on the bundle in his arms. "And what is that?"

Aragorn's breath caught. "Yes, Ada, but this is important. How is Frodo, is he well?" He shook his head, not waiting for an answer. "No, never mind that! Look!" He cried, holding out the child in his arms. "Look, what I've _found_, Ada!"

Elrond's curiosity was peaked, it seemed, and the elf appeared to be slightly alarmed by Aragorn's tone of panic. He apologized to the elf he was tending, and ordered on of the other healers, Adris, to continue wrapping the wound. He stood quickly and walked over to Aragorn, who pushed back the hood of the child's cloak.

Elrond immediately paled. His gray eyes widened, and he let out a shocked gasp. He stumbled back, and one of the healers, alarmed, caught him before he fell. "My Lord Elrond! Are you well?"

Aragorn suddenly had everyone in the infirmary's attention, and he shifted slightly, before unwrapping the elfling from the blanket. He walked over to an empty bed and set the tiny boy down, pushing back his onyx hair from his damp face. He heard various sound of surprise, shock, and alarm, but he didn't turn until the elfling was tucked into the bed. Then, he spun around and took Elrond's hands in his own. "Please, Ada, he is injured and sick. Help him!"

Elrond wasted no time at all, once he'd shaken his surprise away. Aragorn stood to the side as the Healer checked the small elfling over, before frowning in worry when Elrond paled further, after a while. "_By the Valar_..." The dark haired elf choked, eyes widening. To Aragorn, he looked angry.

The Ranger leaned forward, having a notion that the Healer wasn't thinking about the elfling's current injuries. "Ada? What is it?"

Elrond jerked around and stared at him for a moment, eyes wide. Aragorn saw pain in them. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, shouts of alarm rang through the halls of the infirmary. Aragorn's blood froze as he heard a long, drawn out howl.

He'd forgotten the wolf.

_**-switch-**_

Loki was in a hurry. He'd left the two-legged beings with his pup about an hour before to seek out The Fortune and report the recent happenings to them—Sonj liked to stay in on the news. He was a bit controlling like that, but the wolf knew it was for a good cause. After all, the animals all cared for their elfling. Neo had tagged along, since the silver squirrel knew more of his pup's state of health than Loki did—Loki and the others knew the two were connected in some way, but they didn't guess how. Perhaps it was the Valar. Yes, that must be it.

Now, he was rushing back, The Fortune racing along with him. He'd found a clearing big enough for the herd that was near the beautiful elf city, and then left them to go find his pup. He was worried, and Neo had said his pup was ill. Loki hoped the child was alright, he was the only thing in Middle Earth he had left.

_**-switch-**_

Frodo woke up to a large commotion. He had a slight idea of where he was, now, but he'd always thought the elves to be more,, peaceful, serene.. quiet? Yes, that was it. But no—he heard shouting, rushing footsteps, yelps of surprise and alarm, things being knocked over. Was something happening?

He sat up and looked around him—the door to the room he was in was swinging open. He guessed that a healer or such had been in the room with him moments before, but had rushed out in a hurry for something. Maybe it was the commotion? He didn't know. The Hobbit sat up, and immediately wished he had not. Pain arched across his shoulder, and he winced. He looked at the doorway in time to see a black blur race past. He could almost here the wind snap. Seconds later, a group of elves rushed after the blur. Oh, he really did wished to know what was happening!

"Wolf!" He heard a familiar voice shout out. Was that Pippin?"

"Oi, Wolf!" Merry seemed to join in. "Come back, Mister Wolf!"

Frodo blinked. "Oh!" He said softly to himself. "May it be that animal that was following us? I do hope it doesn't cause the elves any trouble..."

_**-switch-**_

Elrond stared down at the wolf that had entered minutes ago. Yes, Rivendell was known for getting strange and noteworthy visitors all of the time, but a _wolf_... that was a new one.

They;d fought to keep the animal away from the elfling—an _elfing_! He'd been utterly shocked—but it appeared to get past all defenses. What really surprised them was that, when the wolf finally got to the child, the animal did nothing but lay now beside him, giving his face a gentle lick, then laying his head on the child's chest.

The elfling cried out slightly, but then his tiny arms wrapped around the onyx wolf's neck. "_Loki_..." that musical voice had whispered, slightly raspy. It sounded so broken and afraid, their hearts had all shattered.

Elrond decided that the wolf could stay, for now.

"How is he?" Frodo asked. The little Hobbit had been cleared form bed rest—he'd healed mysteriously quickly. Elrond had a feeling Gandalf had something to do with it, that Istar held a love for the Hobbits' race.

Elrond let out a tired sigh. "He is... going to be alright, I hope. Physically, more so. Estel—or, Strider, as you know him, he took great care of the little one's wounds. And the child's fever had gone down a great amount, so I suppose he should be fine."

Glorfindel, who had arrived a short time before, hovered over the sleeping elfling, keeping a wary eye on the wolf, who they had assumed was named Loki. "Physically? What about mentally, mellon nîn? You do not mean to say..." his eyes widened.

Elrond shot him a look.

He paled. "I-I see..." He spat out, shakily. Elrond assumed he was trying to keep in his own anger, just as he was. Aragorn as well, once Elrond had told him his suspicions.

_Who could treat a child like that?_

"Mister...?" Pippin and Merry looked about to cry, and Elrond quickly schooled his features, relieved to see Glorfindel do the same. He didn't think the Hobbits should know just yet. "it is nothing." he said, then mentally smacked himself. They wouldn't believe that. He hurried in is thoughts to come up with something that would satisfy them. "I meant to say, he shall be alright, I believe, though his recovery will take a... _while_, at best."

They nodded, hesitantly, and the two elves held in sighs of relief.

Later on, the shock from finding the solid silver squirrel that was curled up in the elfling's pillow made many elves feel slightly faint at heart. What other surprised did the day hold?

Only the Valar may know.

_**-switch-**_

_**That's a wrap up, I suppose. I tried extra hard to make it longer for you all, and I hope I didn't screw anything up! It's so hard to write like this, and I'm sure I mixed up some modern thinking in there somewhere, but it's to be expected, I guess.**_

_**Anyway, please review and tell me what you think!**_

_**The next review goal is 87, and I'm pretty confident that you guys can make it in record time.**_

_**Another thing, I suppose I should tell you all, if any of you are wondering how much of a mix these two fandoms of the crossover this is will be, I'll just say that Bae'que will mostly be Lord of the Rings verse, but the sequel that my traitorous brain is already planning might have more Harry Potter. Not too sure.**_

_**Anyway, please review and tell me what you think!**_

_**Thank you for reading,**_

_**~Scylar X.**_


	4. Reassure Thyself

**Chapter Four****—**

_**Later on, the shock from finding the solid silver squirrel that was curled up in the elfling's pillow made many elves feel slightly faint at heart. What other surprised did the day hold? Only the Valar may know.**_

The elfling slept for many days, which gave the Lord Elrond a short time enough send word out to the leaders of the other races for the Council of the Ring. His fever had broken only hours before now, though the recovery from it had been slow at best—the two animals were extremely protective of the small elfling, who they still did not know the name of.

Aragorn sat next to the bed with his long-time friend, the elven prince, Legolas. The elves of Mirkwood had arrived only the day before, and they had been amazed at the news of the elfling. Legolas had seemed to immediately gravitate to the little one's side, and he hadn't left yet, eating in the same room. As did Aragorn, who still did not feel up to leaving the small elf as of yet—his heart would not allow it.

Legolas leaned forward, suddenly, and Aragorn turned his attention to the elfling, thinking that his friend's elven hearing abilities had caught something his ears had not. And they had—the elfling was beginning to stir. He and Legolas shared a look, before Aragorn jumped up and ran out of the room to get his Lord Elrond.

Legolas turned back sharply and peered down at the tiny little elf, making sure to give him some space. He'd heard what had happened to the elfing from Lord Elrond, and his blood boiled hotter than the depths of Mount Doom itself when he so much as thought about it. How could that had ever happened? People were not that cruel, right? But then.. there was Sauron...

The elfling's eyes fluttered open, then, and Legolas took a cautious step backwards and held his hands behind his back, standing innocently now in the center of the room, about five feet away from the bed. He raised his eyes to look pleasantly at the little one as the child sat up and looked around blearily. A few seconds, and the elfling jolted as he returned to awareness. Violet eyes peered up cautiously at him, and Legolas felt his heart break just a little bit more.

The elfling was silent for a while, only just staring at him when the door swept open to reveal Elrond and a nervous-looking Aragorn. Legolas didn't turn around, only sent them a pleasant smile before turning back to look at the boy and give him a comforting smile as well. He was good at looking harmless, innocent, and sweet. His father—and just about every other person he'd met(elf or otherwise) had always said so, sometime or another. Most of the time, it irked Legolas to no end—he was not adorable, he was a elven warrior!—but now he was a bit grateful. He didn't want to scare the elfling.

Violet eyes held him in a long assessment, until they swung over to peer up at Aragorn and Elrond. The elfling ignored his injuries, then, and did his best to dig himself further under the blankets he was covered in. Legolas blinked as if the retreat—and the obvious "please don't hurt me, please don't notice me, I didn't do anything"—hadn't bothered him at all. It _had_, he wasn't going to lie to himself, but showing his displeasure at the elfling's state of health and mind wouldn't really help the situation at all right now, right? He figured that was what Lord Elrond would tell him.

Elrond was about to take a cautious step into the room, when suddenly, the elfling practically flew out from under the blankets and asked in a sweet voice, violet eyes impossibly wide and innocent, "Loki?" The elfling cast a searching gaze around the room, head spinning this way and that. Legolas might have thought it was cute if not for the obvious panic that child was in.

_Loki, who is Loki...? _Legolas felt his cerulean eyes widen slightly, and he carefully made his way out of the room, not making any movements to possibly frighten the child. He was going to find the wolf...

He was to focused on a slow exit to broadcast his no intent of harm to the elfling, subconsciously, that he altogether missed the slightly surprised, almost proud, and softly impressed gaze Elrond was directing at his back.

_**-switch-**_

Elrond was pleasantly surprised. It seemed Legolas had a knack for reading the atmosphere, despite his insistent need for stating the obvious. It was funny, sometimes, but Elrond sometimes suspected Legolas was a bit slow in understanding some things. He was thankful that was not the case—entirely, at least.

Now, though, he turned his attention to the frightened elfling that was edging back from them that very moment. His heart was breaking from the sight—elflings should never have absolutely any reason to fear their own kind. Elflings should never appear so afraid, elflings should never be that _hurt_.

He'd seen the marks and wounds. Not all of them were made by the treatment of Orcs, he knew. Just the thought of his made his blood feel hot, while his skin was a chilling icy cold. He'd never felt hate quite like this, before. At least, not in a long time.

He decided to do his check on the elfling's health from afar this time, since the child was awake and, simply, terrified of them. It hurt, but it was the truth, so he worked his best around that. He concluded, soon enough, that the child was as good as he could be at the moment, after being attacked, and possibly held captive for a prolonged amount of time, by Orcs. He sent a short, reassuring nod toward his foster son, who still looked as if he wanted the floor to swallow him up and spit him out into a group of orcs so he could rampage and release his anger—Elrond understood that look, he almost wished for that himself, if he hadn't known the elfling needed him here right now.

He was about to exit as carefully as Legolas had earlier, when said elf came back into the room, slightly quicker than he had left. Seconds later, Elrond moved out of the way of the beautiful black wolf Loki, who entered the room with graceful steps. The animals majestic mood flew out the windows, metaphorically speaking, once he set his emerald gaze on the elfling. He pounced, then, and the elfling let out a relieved cry, throwing his arms around the wolf's thick neck. Elrond stood just outside the door and gave Legolas a proud smile. The elf in question caught his look, this time, and a faded pink blush appeared on his cheeks, until he hurriedly turned his ocean-colored eyes away. Elrond held in a small chuckle—Legolas was altogether too humble for his own good. He cast once more glance over at the elfling, who seemed slightly less tense now that he had his wolf friend, and saw the silver flying squirrel sitting on the child's shoulder. He let out a small breath of wonder as the living treasure cast him a glance before turning back to the elfling. The tiny animal was an anomaly of nature—no one in Rivendell could wrap their minds around it's mere existence.

He quietly stalked out of the room and headed toward his study. He still had those letters to send out. If the elfling was here, were was it's parents? Not alive, certainly—Elves would never give away their child, not even to other elves, unless they knew they wouldn't be there for the elfling anymore, or they were killed, and he knew for absolute certain that no elf in existence would do... _what had been done_ to the elfling in the infirmary. Ever. This he knew.

Perhaps the elves of Mirkwood would have an idea? At the very least, Galadriel would _have_ to have _some_ sort of inkling, correct? Elrond shook his head and continued on his way, now at a quick pace. He had work to do.

_**-switch-**_

The child didn't know what to do. Those Orcs, they were so mean1 They'd ruined the forest, Loki had told him—! Thankfully, The Fortune had made it out safely; they'd only lost a slightly elderly doe that the he had named Nimba—none of the herd was hit too hard with that. Sure, they'd all adored Nimba, she was such a sweet old girl, but they'd been expecting her illness to take her soon, so they'd steeled themselves for her death already. In fact, the only one of their numbers—The Fortune had rallied up many of the other forest friends and had taken them along for the journey to escape as well—that had been even remotely seriously injured was the child himself. He was glad for that. He didn't think he'd be able to take it if any of his other friends had been taken.

Sonj, who had been established as the forest King, beside Loki, in a subconscious, anonymous vote, had given him the right to name all of the forest animals, as a way to categorize them in his memory. The child had told Sonj and Loki that that was how beings like him remembered other beings, and the stag had agreed that it was best—and it might, in fact, even be a fun new thing for the other animals. The child had went right to work, and by the week after, had named most every forest animal he'd gotten to know. Now, all of The Fortune had names, including Sonj and his tiny little twin fawns. The male fawn was called Horst, and the female was Masche. They were such adorable little creatures—and they all said he was more so, but the child never believed them—and after pestering Sonj about it, the two had finally convinced the prideful stag, the week after meeting the child, to let him ride his back when they traveled long distances.

The child hugged Loki tightly, wondering where the wolf had been. When he'd woken up, Neo had told him that Loki had gone to scout the new area for possible signs of danger, but the child had found one right in front of him! The older person had looked harmless enough, the child admitted, but so did Harry Potter's second cousin on his Uncle's side, Mark. Mark was anything but the sweet nice little boy his parent's claimed him to be, harry potter had found that out quick quickly. Mark had been small, with knobby knees and a head full of wild, spiky blond hair that stuck up everywhere and looked like a bush, and it fell into his eyes often. Despite his small stature, mark could throw a mean left hook—and he'd had Dudley to help him, after all. So, harmless-looking people were something to be wary of just as much as the stronger looking ones.

Although, the child had never seen a person so beautiful. Perhaps it was part of the trick. To use his curiosity against him until the person pounced. Then the pain would be there all over again—and the child didn't want it to. After months of living peacefully in the forest pain-free, he was understandably reluctant to return to such a life.

The person had regarded him carefully, then had decided to coexist with him rather than get rid of him, like ever one had when he was the Freak. He was very grateful to that, but was still extremely wary. The person could change their mind anytime they wished, he knew. He himself was still having slight difficulty with telling whether or not the person was male or female.

Then, two more people came—another pretty one, and one average-looking Joe—and the first person left after he demanded to know where his wolf bodyguard had went, slightly suspecting that they'd done something to Loki despite what Neo had told him. The child hoped that the person was going to bring Loki to him—that would be nice of him, though it still wouldn't gain his trust. Perhaps a small, very small portion. The child had really liked how that first person had looked. They looked nice, kind, caring, _sweet_ even. He'd always wanted to ave someone like that around him, to protect him from everyone else—

"_Bad_ child, _no_." He stressed to himself quietly. He didn't notice the other people with pointed ears like him, or the average Joe who'd stopped to listen in. "_Loki_ protects you, only. You need no one else. Bad, child. Bad, bad—_no one else_."

Loki seemed to approve of the first part—aside form the child accusing himself of being bad—but the wolf lowered his head with a small whine at the last words. _Yes you do, pup. _Loki knew. _Yes you do._

But he didn't tell him that.

Perhaps he should have, though. It certainly would have made things proceed much faster.

_**-switch-**_

Elrond was slightly apprehensive at the sight he came upon as he turned in his seat, at his study desk. The door had opened silently, but his hearing had picked up on the quiet footsteps that had slowly made their way to his study only a minute before.

"Ada...?" Elrohir asked, his usually confidant voice shaking slightly. He was twisting the hem of his cream-colored tunic in his hands, as is nervous. Elladan stood next to his twin, his hands covering his face. He was swiping the backs of his right hand across his eyes every five seconds, as if to clear something away—tears. The elf lord looked back to Elrohir to see that the younger elf's eyes were glassy, almost, with a film of tears over them. It made sense, though. Elladan was always the easiest to cry of the two...

Elrond shot up from his desk, rushing over to his two sons. When was the last time he'd seen either of them cry? Well it couldn't have been less than a few _decades_, at most, could it? He placed his hands on one shoulder each, like he'd used to when they were small elflings, and Elladan surprised him. The elf let out a choked cry and launched himself into his father's arms. Elrond let out a surprised word, before wrapping his arms around his trembling son. "Elladan?"

Elrohir walked up to the two slowly, before latching on to one of Elrond's occupied arms and burying his face into the fabric, sucking in a deep, trembling breath. "Ada..."

"Elrohir?" Elrond was at a loss. He really didn't know what to do. Why were his sons crying, what had happened?

"It is not fair—how—how—!?" Elladan choked in answer to his unspoken question. "How could—w-why would... I don't—!" He shook his head wordlessly, more tears dislodging from his eyes. "_Ada!_"

Elrond was alarmed, now. He'd never seen his sons like this. It frightened him. "What is it, my sons? What has happened?" He turned a searching gaze to the slightly more collected Elrohir, though the other twin was crying as much as Elladan, but with less noise. That made sense, as well. Elladan had always been a bit more emotional than Elrohir, and Elrohir always tried at keeping the cries inside—Elrond knew it wasn't healthy for his son, but it was a habit Elrohir had developed at a young age. Elrond led the two twins to the chair that sat before the fire place—though there was no fire, as it was a warm, bright day, and the sunlight streamed through the windows.

"Tell me, what has you two like this?" He asked softly.

Elrohir took in a deep breath. "I... Ada, the elfing—it hurts... It hurts to... to see that. We—" He shook his head, taking in another deep breath and buried his face into his father's shoulder, tears staining the fabric of Elrond's robe.

Elrond's expression smoothed out. He understood, now, why they were like this. This was what every other elf in Rivendell who knew what had happened, exactly, to the elfling in the infirmary was like, feeling on the inside. The other's just held it in—but it seemed Elrohir and Elladan could not any longer. He shifted around so that both of his boys were wrapped in his embrace. "I know." He told them, simply. That was, really, all he could say, at the moment. "I know, my sons, but—" the two younger elves looked up with watery eyes at their father, who sent them a gentle, reassuring smile. "—But we shall fix this. You will see. We will make this better."

Elladan's eyes widened, and he lurched forward again, wrapping his arms tightly around his father's chest, sobbing. Elrohir was in a quieter state, but the same nonetheless. He nodded tearfully, attempting to steel his emotions again. Elrond smiled, slightly.

They'd make this better.

_**-switch-**_

_**Alright, folks! Terribly sorry for the wait. I got caught up in a few things—surprise two day vacation with absolutely no access to Wi-fi forced my muse into a short coma. Steeve woke up, fortunately, but it's been slow going since then. I can't believe how long this incredibly short chapter took me. Me, who write a 30-paged one-shot in a 24-hour day, no less.**_

_**I'd say I'm getting old, but that would make me depressed since I'm only fourteen. Yikes.**_

_**Anyway, review, and tell me what you thought! What was "ehhhh," what could be improved, what was totally awesome, what did you love, what does the story need, is it missing something terribly important that it absolutely needs...? C'mon, work with me here!**_

_**New review goal-almost completely forgot this! um... let's go with 147? I dunno... Yeah. 147~**_

_**Love you all,**_

_**~Scylar X.**_


	5. Speaking Through the Waves

_I'm gonna go ahead and dedicate this chapter to the people lost in the tornado that went through those towns in Oklahoma. I heard about this one teacher who lost their life protecting three little kids—Good job, Teach. _

**Chapter Five****—**

_**"I know." He told them, simply. That was, really, all he could say, at the moment. "I know, my sons, but—" the two younger elves looked up with watery eyes at their father, who sent them a gentle, reassuring smile. "—But we shall fix this. You will see. We will make this better." **_

_**-switch-**_

Mithrandir had come as fast as he could once he'd received the news. Elrond had checked the elfling's health once more when the little one had fallen asleep again and hadn't woken up after. The results showed absolutely nothing physically wrong with the child other than what Elrond had already found—so he called out to the Gray Istar for some assistance, hoping that nothing magically was wrong. He had severe doubts, but the elven lord wanted to be sure in any case.

Sadly, they had still not gotten the child's name. Even after the little one had woken up—Legolas had heard the child call even _himself_ "child," so they concluded(ignoring the rage that came with it) that the elfling didn't know his own name.

Loki and Neo—the silver flying squirrel, they'd found out in the least—were still stationed by the little one's side and would not be moved. Elrond also had suspicions that magic had something to do with the animals—really, no being was made entirely out of _living_ precious metals, and no wolf would approach even the purest of people voluntarily like this, even a Wood elfling—as they all suspected the child to be, despite the onyx hair.

Like the two animals, the elven Lord's twin sons were a constant in the elflings room. After being comforted by their father, they'd vowed to watch over the little one least anything happens. Even if not that, they would stay by his side and look after the child. Elrond had felt slightly off about it for various reasons, but they'd all felt no little relief when the wolf Loki had appeared to approve of the two elves' actions.

Legolas was there as well, perhaps even more than the twins even. Loki and Neo adored the blond-haired prince, to the surprise of many. Some suspected it had to do with the fact that Legolas was also a Wood elf, but Elrond thought not. Legolas seemed insistently attached to the tiny sleeping child, though no one else—not even the prince himself—seemed to notice just yet. Elrond hid a small smile. He has his suspicions, but...

Aragorn too, but to a much lesser extent. Arwen and most other elves in Rivendell had a bone to pick with their only human relative, so to speak, once his daughter had told him what her foster brother supposedly had done. And seeing the slightly guilty but not regretful face when Estel had been accused to his face, Elrond was inclined to agree with the rest of them, and confirmed that he had, in fact, hidden the elfing intentionally from Arwen when he'd handed her Frodo to take to the elven city. Arwen had been furious when she found out, and the resulting shouting match—which had been quite one-sided—left Estel curled up into a ball in the corner of the dinning hall. The other elves at supper that night had talked about it for days after—were still talking about it, even. Everyone was quite smug, and Elrond wasn't ashamed to think, obviously, that his son had had it coming to him.

You don't hide an elfing from elves—it was suicidal. Estel knew that now.

"Ada?" Elrond looked up as Arwen entered the room. "Do you have word from Mithrandir?" She asked.

He smiled slightly. "Yes, from one of his feathered friends." Both elves chuckled. "He should be in Rivendell by early tomorrow morn."

She nodded. "Good. I am glad. The elfing worries me."

Elrond let out an almost humorless laugh. "You only wish to see the little one awake, do you not?"

She had the decency to blush. "I should have taken him here. Estel was selfish—I am perfectly capable of carrying two small forms. Frodo was not much of a burden as that he thought."

The elf lord let out a sigh. "I know, daughter. But it is in the past—our main priority is the child."

Arwen tilted her head down toward the beautifully tiled floor of her father's study. "Of course. But still..."

"Is that jealousy I hear?" A cheerful voice asked.

Arwen spun around to see Legolas walk into the room behind her. Elrond leaned around his daughter and chuckled at the teasing look the young prince sent her. Arwen scowled. "No."

Legolas put on a look of surprise. "Oh? Well, I could have sworn..." He eyed her suspiciously for a few seconds, and Elrond enjoyed(secretly) watching her squirm under his gaze, until Legolas broke into a smile once more. "Oh. My apologies. Of course not, I was so horribly mistaken." Arwen kept ton scowling, and Legolas sent her a pout, disappointed in her less-than-funny reaction. Elrond silently chuckled at her face, which turned red. He glanced at Legolas who seemed absolutely, completely oblivious. He mentally sighed—it seemed Legolas had his sharp skills in reading the atmosphere with everything that _didn't_ have to do with romance.

Of course, it probably didn't help that Estel was in love with Arwen—which Legolas knew, though Aragorn was quite clueless as can be. Elrond knew that the young Mirkwood prince most likely felt he owed it to his human friend to stay away from his love, least they reach a dispute.

It was, in all terms that applied, a love-triangle.

Of course, Elrond kept these thoughts inside his head. There was no need to get the younger elves all ruffled up, especially with the circumstances at hand.

His face darkened at the thought of the elfling's state, and Legolas saw. He frowned in concern. "My lord, is something the matter?" Arwen turned back to face her father, blinking.

Elrond shook his head and sighed again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "No, it is nothing. Forgive me, I have been quite stressed lately."

"The elfing, isn't it?" Legolas smiled minutely. Elrond blinked rapidly. What was with Legolas now? He seemed to catch on to things more quickly than not... Elrond eyed the prince suspiciously, but Legolas just blinked innocently back at him with that sweet and adorable smile and Elrond mentally smacked himself. What was he thinking? Legolas wasn't an imposter. It's time for him to get more sleep, that was it.

Legolas frowned again, now. "My lord?" Arwen leaned forward to put a hand on her father's shoulder, but Elrond stood up. "My apologies. I seem to be lacking rest. I believe it is time for me to sleep." he smiled warily, and Legolas brightened considerably. Elrond resisted the urge to shield his eyes—Legolas's smile was like the shining sun. So bright. "Oh, of course! You must be exhausted, looking after the elfling for so long without sleep as you have! You rest, alright? Me and Arwen and Estel and Elrohir and Elladan will take care of the elfling for you!" Arwen nodded quickly.

And as Elrond was ushered out of the room, he felt a sense of immense doom settle upon his shoulders at the words. This wasn't going to end well, he could just taste it.

_**-switch-**_

Gandalf observed the child as he slept. He'd been so surprised when he'd gotten the letter addressed to him from the Lord Elrond—there hadn't been an elfling in _ages—_and he'd hurried to Rivendell as fast as he could. Gandalf wasn't normally surprised, but when he was, it was big. And this was definitely big.

The elfling was fine, nothing magically wrong with him, Gandalf had assured a concerned Elrond and multiple worried elves that day after he'd given the little one a thorough examination. Nothing magically _wrong_. Though, the old wizard had caught a small clue that there _was_, possibly, something magically _right_ within the child.

It was one of the first times that the elves had gotten exasperated due to his ominous and slippery words.

"Please just tell me what you mean!" Elladan begged him, following after the old wizard like a lost puppy.

"I said what I meant," Gandalf's eyes were twinkling madly, but they began to dim a little as he looked into the desperate face of the younger elf. "Do not fret, Elladan. It is nothing _bad_..."

Elladan stood silently, staring, until he threw his hands into the air with a frustrated noise. The elf walked off, toward the infirmary once more. Gandalf watch after him, face saddened. "It will all make sense in time, my friend."

"How is he now?" Elladan asked as he entered the room. Estel looked up. "Still the same. He's not even moving."

"Is he even going to wake up again?" Elrohir asked, voice dull and lifeless. "So many wounds from the orcs... I'm surprised he even woke the first time."

"How can you say that!?" Estel yelled, jerking his head up. "Does he not matter to you—?"

"Of course he does!" The elf shouted back, angry. "I'm just saying... His injuries were very deep..." Elrohir sat down in a chair next to the comatose elfling and stared at the child. "They looked... painful. I don't want to ever see a child with such wounds again—I'd never even dreamed of such horrors, so I could not hope that I would never..." He bowed his head. The others were silent. Suddenly, the door to the infirmary's room opened, and they all looked up to see Gandalf walk into the room. His bright eyes observed them silently.

"Mithrandir!" Estel jumped up. "Greetings, Istar!"

"Ah, hello young Aragorn." Estel's arms dropped and he looked away. No matter how many time he'd been called by his true name, son of Arathorn, he was still tense about it. He didn't want to be the heir to Gondor—he wanted to be his father's son, Elrond's son. Elladan placed a hand on his shoulder and Gandalf smiled at him reassuringly. Then, the wizards attention was focused on the unconscious elfling. He approached the bed and they others watched silently. Minutes later, the wizard sat down in the empty chair on the opposite side from Elrohir's, and they all sat in quiet, thinking over their own personal thoughts. Loki the wolf sat in the corner of the room, as if sleeping—though one eye was open watching them carefully, and the ever alert Neo sat on the animal's shoulder.

Suddenly, the sheets on the bed rustled, and all attention was on the elfling, who slowly blinked glittering amethyst eyes up at them curiously. The twins sucked in a breath, and Estel held down a large grin as he rushed out of the room to get Legolas, who was most likely just on his way back from the dining hall by now.

Gandalf observed the elfling silently as the child sat up. The violet orbs blinked once, twice, before the elfling looked up at Gandalf questioningly.

"Hello little one." The ancient Istar spoke. "We are all very happy to see you awake."

The child tilted his head to the side just as the door was opening again, and Estel entered with the Prince of Mirkwood, who turned and smiled sweetly at the elfing. The elfling's eyes lit up slightly, surprising everyone in the room, and the child slowly gave a shy smile in return. Legolas' eyes shone.

The child turned back toward Gandalf, who nodded reassuringly. "I'm sure you have many questions, my dear little elf. And, in time, they will all be answered. Do you wish to ask the ones at the forefront of your mind now, or should we wait until you have eaten?"

Purple eyes widened slightly, and the elfling went to clutch at his stomach, hissing. Gandalf raised an eyebrow, and the child blushed an adorable faded pink color that went well with his eyes. The Istar chuckled. "Well, then. I guess that answers that." He turned towards the others. "Aragorn, my friend. Would you mind fetching us a meal for our little elfling here?" Estel completely disregarded the use of his birth name and treated the wizard with a big grin. "I actually brought some back with me after I went to get Legolas."He held out a tray. "Here, it's mostly just fruit and there's a bowl of soup, too. Figured the kid wouldn't want something too solid after such a long time asleep."

"Looks like the fumbling Ranger picked something up from father after all!" Elrohir teased, his spirits having risen back up once he had seen the elfling awaken. Estel swatted his foster brother's hand off his shoulder and set the tray on the side-table that was placed next to the bed. The elfling gazed at the food curiously, before pointing at the bowl of stew and looking at Gandlaf.

The wizard smiled. "That, my elfling, appears to be your everyday elven vegetable stew. If you wish, I could get you some that has a more filling serving of meat added in—" Purple eyes widened in horror, and the elfling began to shake his head furiously, glaring hostilely at the old man. The rest backed away slightly, and Gandalf sat up in surprise. "Oh? Do you not like meat?"

The elfling sat up straighter and crossed his arms, still glaring. It was more of a pout than anything, but the men were all taken aback at how much hate filled the amethyst orbs. The elfing shook his head and pointed at the animals sitting in the corner of the room. The others turned with Gandalf to look at Loki and Neo, whom they'd almost forgotten about. Loki appeared to be smiling—as if he was laughing at them—and Neo looked as indignant as a silver flying squirrel made out of living precious metal could.

Gandalf's eyebrows rose as he realized what the child was trying to say. "Ah! You do not like to eat animals, is that it?" The elfling slowly shook his head, and Gandalf began to laugh. The child blinked, and sat back hurriedly—becoming shy once more. The wizard decided to address another matter as the others in the room looked on silently—though the twins had begun to administer the soup to the child, who hesitantly accepted spoonfuls of the meal.

"Why is it that you do not talk?" Gandalf inquired.

The elfling blinked, and settled back further into the pillows behind his back, as if he was trying to make himself smaller. The men did their best to ignore the meaning of that, however much it filled them with anger at the ones that had hurt the child before—aside from the orcs. The violet eyes stared back at them silently, and Gandalf sighed. "Just as well. Whenever you feel like talking, I suppose." He stood up slowly as to not startle the child, and headed for the door. "I hope to see you again later, yes?"

Estel and Elrohir went to follow the Istar, when a musical voice sounded behind them, hesitantly speaking up, "I hear them..."

They all turned back to look at the child, but the elfling wasn't looking at them. No, the boy was gazing out the window that sat next to his bed. It was open, and looked out into one of the many gardens that resided in Rivendell. The sun shone brightly and the wildlife was awake and bustling with activity.

"Who do you hear, my boy?" The wizard questioned curiously.

But the words that left the child's mouth stopped all of them, even Gandalf, in their tracks.

"The snakes. The snakes are talking again. I hear them." The elfling turned his head slowly to look up at them. "Can you? Mr. Gandalf, they want you to listen. They say they want you to stop."

Gandalf was still. He turned slightly wide, yet amazed, eyes to the child who was quiet again. "... I'm sorry, little elfling, but I do beg your pardon?"

The elfling lifted his hands and moved them through the air slowly, as if he was threading them through an invisible river of flowing water. His lavender eyes stayed completely transfixed on the movement of his own fingers, until they rose up to meet the Istar's blue ones. "The waves. Stop them. That's what the snakes say. And the birds, and the butterflies."

Gandaf stood completely silent for a good minute or two, while the others in the room were looking back and forth between the two in absolute puzzlement. Legolas, however, looked more bemused than anything else—as if he had almost an inkling of an idea as to what was going on with the elfing, what the child was talking about, but he still couldn't grasp it fully.

Suddenly, Gandalf broke into a wide, beaming smile. "Just as I suspected." He nodded, looking quite pleased. "Yes, yes, of course. Correct you are, my boy." He told the elfling, who only continued to stare, looking most unamused. But he'd been right. From the moment the Istar had finished his examination of the, before then, comatose elfling, he'd been sending out small pulses of his magic in raw, undiluted waves that spread out throughout the entire elven city that they were in. It was just an experiment, but it proved what Gandalf had thought. The child had some form of magic that was above the almost nonexistent type of the Wood elves. Much, much higher above. The elfling had been able to sense the pulses, and he'd also been able to speak with the animals(who, for the record, had reported to the elfling that the pulses annoyed them and were disrupting their daily routine. They'd asked the "Speaker" if he could put a stop to it, and that is most likely why the child had even spoken at all) who conveyed their feelings through the link that the magic provided. "Yes," Gandalf mused aloud, almost pointedly ignoring the other in the room who were now looking quite lost. "I see that we can expect great things from you, dear child. Great things indeed."

And, as he exited the room with a curious Estel and Elrohir and Elladan trailing behind him—Legolas wasn't leaving the elflings side _now_—he felt the amethyst eyes of the elfling boring into his back as the child stared after him silently, back to not speaking at all.

Even after the door closed, the elfling continued to stare at it. He opened his mouth almost manually as Legolas held spoonful after spoonful of the vegetable soup up for him to eat. After that they moved on to the fruit. Both remained absolutely, completely silent.

Legolas, though, smiled.

He knew, now. He was a Wood elf, after all.

He could feel it, too, however slightly, so he _knew_.

_**-switch-**_

_**'Pologies for the wait, guys. Life's been pretty hectic. **_

_**Um.. That is all. Oh yeah! And blackgoddess123? You can update now *smiles sweetly* Yeah... Now would be totally awesome. No rush, though!**_

_**And just for the record, no. There's not going to be any Arwen-Legolas romance in here unless i'm begged repeatedly for it. Arwen just had a small, long-lasting childhood crush is all. A really long lasting one XD**_

_**Anyway! Please review and tell me what you think! I can't wait to hear from you all, my lovely, lovely readers! Please make sure that you are logged in when reviewing—I'd love to reply to any review that catches my eyes, but I can't do that when there's no username to click! T^T**_

_**Love you, though~**_

_**Thanks for reading,**_

_**~Scylar X.**_


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